The Crystal State
by tkdiamondauthor
Summary: Tom and Ash run a New Mexico hotel and have filled it with hookers, petty crims, dealers and meth heads. They've done well. Well enough to buy it but Hugo, the Chinese owner, has his own ideas. Will Tom and Ash get the money before Hugo's deadline? Will they be able to expand the business model Tom calls 'The Crystal State? (chapters one a week, favourite for updates)
1. Chapter 1

On the outskirts of a New Mexico city, I'm not going to tell you which one because that would be giving too much away and the boys wouldn't like that, so let's just say that this is a place where the dream has died. The tide of money in our fair economy had come in like it does, washed up on these not-so-fair shores and then run out, probably never to return or at least it pretty much feels that way. A few monuments have been left behind in tribute to those days, mostly new looking buildings that were put up to house and serve all the good folk that were meant to come but the place has pretty much just gone back to what it was before - 'Looserville'. Well, I call it that anyway. Tom wouldn't. One time he threw his arms in the air as if trying to wrap them around the place and said to me -

"Uncle J, this is the land of opportunity!"

\- and I probably shook my head at the kid. But he was right - it was a land of opportunity - just not the kind you and I would expect.

Anyway, I'm sure you'll get the picture...

I'm floating around the hotel one day keeping an eye on things and find Tom in the in the staff room. He's dressed in a suit and sitting next to Ash, his one time friend now business partner who is dressed, well, a little more casual than Tom. But the boys are tight. Thick as thieves. Literally. They went to school together and even though Ash was a few years older than Tom they seemed to weld to each other from the get-go. Maybe because Ash was an only kid and Tom the black sheep of the family - who knows?

There's a tension in the room. Tom is rapping his fingers from pinky to index loudly on the table and jigging his leg but you can easily get the wrong read on that. Tom's not nervous, he's impatient. He's developed an even thicker skin since the time he was under my wing and I thought he was pretty watertight back then. Maybe too tight. You can tell something's about to do down, a deal of some kind. Tom usually leads the proceedings with Ash throwing the odd word in for backup when needed but don't let that fool you either. If you're thinking Tom is the brains and that Ash is just along for the ride then you've got it wrong. Ash is sharp as a box cutter, a screwed up genius. There's nothing he doesn't see or anything that doesn't figure into his calculations.

On the other side of the table, sitting by himself, is Hugo. Chinese guy. Hotel owner.

There's an adequate amount of waiting time as Tom jitters about finishing his cigarette and with the cliche of the smoke hanging in the air, he goes in for the kill.

"Hugo, we like your hotel. We're going to buy it off you."

The boys had done well. I mean really well. Well enough to sit the owner of a hotel down and tell him they're buying it off him.

"What?!" Hugo, mouth hanging open for a bit. "Buying? You two?! This is my hotel boys!" He'd said the last bit firmly enough but question marks seemed to linger over it. This was the effect Tom and Ash could have and it had tipped the balance their way in the past. You just needed big enough balls to pull it off.

"This place doesn't need you any more Hugo. And you don't need it, frankly. We're the ones with the vision now." Tom, shifting up a gear and talking to him as if it was already a done deal. Hugo is taken back a little as he notices Tom's jittering has turned to stony self assuredness. Tom doesn't even blink. He examines Hugo like a predatory animal might, looking for a sign of weakness, looking at him 'straight down the barrel' exactly how I'd taught him.

But this isn't Hugo's first time at the bargaining table... "With all you two have done I should have gone to the police."

"So, why didn't you?" Ash chimes in, lifting his head just enough to meet Hugo's gaze from just under the brim of his cap.

Hugo does not respond.

"You didn't go to the police because you were making too much money. A lot more than you were before. Yes?" Tom waits again for a response that doesn't come. "And besides, the police don't present much of a problem to us, as you know."

Hugo sits, stewing in his own juices for a while before Tom puts it to him. "Okay then - here's what we're willing to do..." He lays out the deal and it's a generous one. A deal that puts Hugo well ahead of what he paid for the place and avoids any unnecessary complications and after delivering it, Tom leans back on the chair, seemingly assured that the deal will be accepted. He puts his hands behind his head.

"I don't think so," says Hugo, drawing himself closer to the table, a knowing look having grown in his eyes. "When I was going to school they gave us homework. Did you boys get homework? Of course you did. And did you do your homework? No. You didn't do it then, just like you haven't done it now."

Tom and Ash exchange a sideways glance as if to say, what the fuck is this guy on about?

"Why do you think the police never took this place down? You think it's because of your family connections Tom? And Ash, all your surveillance cameras, even the secret ones, you think you're the only one who was watching in? And why do you think the gangs never took an interest in what was going on here? You think people didn't notice or turned a blind eye to your operations? No..." Hugo chuckles under his breath. "No, no, no... See boys, when I went to school, I always did my homework - and I did it this time as well.

"Tom - your family connections - smokescreen. Your father retired injured years ago. Your brother moved state. Your mother still practices law though doesn't she. Maybe she can represent you in court.

"Ash - we've taken a feed on all the cameras, recorded them in real-time and archived them - including the secret ones. The big deals. The small ones. Hours of evidence. All incriminating. For you. And others.

"You were never challenged in growing your business boys, because you were allowed to grow. Allowed to grow so all the connections could be put in place and the net widened..."

Tom's arms had gone from behind his head to down by his sides and Ash's head dipped lower under his lid.

"Yes... I can see you are starting to understand the precarious nature of your predicament." Hugo's words stammering under his conceit and his accent. "But never fear - maybe I can - in my generosity - help you out?"

Tom had started rolling another cigarette on the table and licked the paper to seal it. "Fuck you Hugo. You're going to offer us a deal now are you?"

"Yes, Tom. I am. Let's see, you offered me a million dollars for this hotel. I think a fairer deal, for me at least, is two million dollars."

"We don't have two million dollars Hugo. We have one. One to give you now and to walk away." Tom, heated.

"As I was saying," Hugo went on, "two million dollars and let's say, four weeks to get it. Otherwise..."

Tom rose, producing a pistol from under his jacket and pointed it at Hugo's face. "Listen, you piece of shit, I'll fucking waste you here now and have this place clean in an hour."

"Oh Tom, please. You don't want to do that." Hugo turned his face and shouted "Jet!" followed by something in Chinese at the door.

What the boys hadn't seen was the driver of Hugo's car wait and then make his way slowly, covering his face with a magazine as he passed through reception and up the hallway, standing outside the staff room door and waiting for any instructions that maybe issued to him.

Hugo's words echoed around the staff room and the door opened slowly, producing a crack of light from which entered a gun on the end of an arm pointing directly at Tom. The arm was attached to an imposing figure that closed the door behind it once it was in the room, gun barrel and dark, light reflecting eyes never leaving Tom for a millisecond.

"Boys - meet Jet. Jet - meet boys. Now that we have a level playing field again, let us consider the facts. One, everything that I have told you is true and to prove it I will say one name - and when I say that name you will know what I'm saying is true."

"What fucking name?" Tom, looking at Hugo one second and then transferring his gaze to Jet and then back.

"The name is - Cowboy."

"Cowboy! What the fuck?! What fucking cowboy...!"

Ash had put a hand up to stop Tom but he hadn't seen it or reacted to it. "Tom. Tom! TOM!"

Tom stopped.

"It's okay," said Ash, calmly. "He's got us. Please, put the gun on the table, sit down..."

Tom did as requested. Jet lowered his weapon but stood ready to discharge any instructions issued by Hugo.

"So you want two million Hugo?" Ash, now in the driver's seat.

"Two million is the price."

"We'll give you one and a half."

Hugo leant into the table, repeating: "Two million is the price. Otherwise, everything I have goes to the police. You two go to jail and I start again with the hotel. This is not my first time Mister Ash, as you can probably tell..."

Ash remained silent for a time and Tom sensed the whirring of his mind doing the calculations, trying to find them a way out of this and then - "Okay, two million it is then, but we're going to need six weeks, not four."

"Six weeks it is then." Hugo, smiling now that he'd succeeded in his negotiations. "Six weeks. No more. Jet will return in exactly six weeks. You will have the money ready and after that, you can enjoy your hotel any way you like."

"How do we know you're not going to drop us in the shit anyway?" Tom asked.

"You don't. But, who knows what opportunities lie on the other side of you guys getting your first hotel? Maybe we can be partners in the future?"

"I'm not partnering with you, you..."

Ash raised his hand again and Tom simmering came down. "You'll have your money," he said. "See you in six weeks."

"Well gentlemen, I have to say, it's been an absolute pleasure." Hugo raised himself up out of the seat, buttoning his jacket. "Jet..." he said, motioning a hand towards him. Jet opened the door letting the light in, blinding Tom and Ash momentarily until it shut leaving them alone in the room.

"Fuck!" Tom kicks the table and sends it flying across the room. "What the fuck have you done Ash? We were pushing it for one and now we've gotta pay two? For this place? And where are we going to find the extra cash? You got an extra million tucked up your ass you're going to pull out?"

"Maybe," comes the reply.

"Maybe?! Fuck Ash. We're screwed!"

"No we're not. If we push extra hard over the next six weeks we can make up a fair bit of it."

"Well we'd wanna be pushing extra fucking hard to make anywhere near that amount up."

"I've got some options there. Now, your uncle..."

"Uncle John?"

"Yeah, him..."

"He's dead Ash. Fat lot of good he's going to do us."

"Just wait will you? Your uncle, he had some contacts right?"

"Yeah. But I haven't spoken to them in years."

"Get on the phone to them. See if they're interested in making a bit of cash by fronting you some cash."

"Oh Jesus. That's our plan?"

"You got any better ideas?"

"Sure have. Like getting on a plane to an island somewhere and disappearing for a few years. Sounds a lot better than the options you're putting on the table."

"Okay, so if this doesn't work then do that, yeah? But let's try this first. We might just get through..."

As Tom pulled the cell phone from his pocket out the front of the hotel, he found the contact he was looking for and dialled it. "Ernesto? Yeah, hi, it's Tom - yeah, John's nephew - yeah I know, it's been a while - listen, could I come and see you...?"

Jet pulled the car out of the hotel driveway. Speaking in Chinese, he addressed Hugo. "Where am I taking you now Boss?"

"We're heading across town, corner of 5th and [name] Avenue. There's another hotel I own there. We need to see if the manager over there needs any 'help'..."

"Yes Boss."

Hugo was looking something up on his tablet in the back of the car.

"Boss? May I ask you a question?"

"Sure. Shoot."

"May I respectfully ask how you came up with my name?"

Hugo laughs. "I couldn't decide between Bruce or Jet," saying the names in English, not Chinese. "But Jet was born in China, not America like Bruce was. Besides, Jet is the better fighter..."

"Thank you Boss."

Jet stared straight ahead and saying nothing more pulled the car onto the freeway and headed across town as instructed.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom completed 'the mission' and flopped onto the bed.

"Jesus Tom. You should get anger management or something..." Shelby said, adjusting her clothes that had been rearranged in the haste.

There was a knock on the door. "Chica. You okay?" the unmistakable Mexican accent asked.

"Yeah, fine. It's Tom..."

There was a pause as if some mental calculations were being done. "Okay. You holler if you need us."

"You know I will."

The sound of footsteps receded down the hallway.

"Fuck that. I'm not going to any an-ger man-age-ment," Tom replied, almost face down into the pillows. He tried pulling his pants up from around his ankles but couldn't reach so his bum continued to stick out on the bed.

She reached over to the bedside, pulled a cigarette out of a pack and lit it.

"So what are you going to do?"

But there was no answer. Tom had already fallen asleep and had even started to snore a little. She turned back to face the room and used the remote control to turn the TV on.

"Well Shell," she said, doing her version of Tom's voice and manner. "I'm gonna slay these here dragons, take all the money and disappear to a desert island - with you. Only if it's with you. You're the one, honey."

"Yeah, right," answering herself in a disbelieving tone. "I've heard that one before..." She placed the cigarette on the ashtray beside the bed and went into the small ensuite, partially closing the door and obscuring herself from Tom's view should he wake. Shelby was beautiful; one of the most beautiful girls the world had ever borne. She adjusted her hair in the mirror this way and that but couldn't seem to find a way to make it sit in a way that satisfied. She turned sideways and looked herself up and down and then moved away after giving herself a look of disapproval, minor imperfections standing out and obscuring her view.

Tom's mind's eye wandered somewhere within his sleep. It was the same scene he played over and over in his mind. Sometimes he could remember it upon wakening, this future memory. His vision floats down out of the palm trees as they gently sway to and fro. There is a couple and a child on the white sand of the beach. The water is the colour you see in those Photoshopped brochures or online travel sites except it's real. As he draws closer to the group he sees Shelby's face and a feeling of warmth bursts within him like a whiskey shot does. And then he is there, on the sand, with her and the infant. The child runs, laughing, away from them and Shell gets up and gives chase, catching her before too long and spins her around and around in the air before gently flopping her back onto the sand. There's a squeal of delight and she runs towards Tom and crashes into him, arms around his neck. "Daddy!"

He wakes and sees Shelby moving across the floor back towards him. She falls onto the bed and uses her arms and hands to support her face, legs crossed with feet wriggling behind her.

"So..?!" she says.

"So what?"

"So - what are you going to do?!"

"I gotta go see Ernest."

"You mean Ernest-o," Shelby, correcting him on the pronunciation. Tom liked to use the English version of his name. It was the name Ernesto used when I first met him to make him somehow more palatable to white folk. Plenty of people with Mexican sounding names did it back then but I thought it was bullshit. l always thought it was bullshit - but he insisted. "Please John, it makes me feel more comfortable." But after things had turned in his favour it had definitely been Ernesto ever since. Tom was probably the only person who could call him his former name without some kind of verbal whipping, or in a less forgiving moment, a physical one. But there were others to do that kind of thing now - the standover, the debt recovery, the muscling. 'That kind of thing' being so very beneath him now.

"Well this is Ernesto's place, I just thought you might want to get his name right." Shelby, reintroducing Tom to the concept and looking at him like there's 'shit he don't get'.

Tom paused and sharpened his focus, looking Shelby straight in the eye. He didn't have time to explain the history nor was it something he wanted people to know, for a few reasons.

"Okay. So I gotta go see Err-ness-to," he said to her, accentuating every syllable as if a child in a remedial reading class. "I gotta see what he can do for me... For us."

"How much do you need?"

"A lot."

Coming from where he did, a family background of lawyers and law enforcement, Tom was naturally tight lipped. That was a part of his inheritance. He didn't have many rules but the ones he had, he stuck to. At the top of that list was - if they don't need to know, don't tell 'em. Standard communication protocol, not just for those who were into wrong-doing but in this section of the world, the underworld - the streets, the rooms, the cars, the hallways - all had eyes, ears and mouths. Once you let something out of the bag it travelled immediately to those it would benefit most. Those, who by any means, one way or another, could get something out of you. Vultures, that if you let them, would tear apart the carcass of what you were doing until there was nothing left and that's the best case but at worst would leave you in their debt and that's the way they liked it the most. Tom hadn't put Shelby completely in the picture. She knew he was holding a lot back and she liked to tell herself it was for her own protection but she wasn't that naive to not know that ultimately it was for Tom's.

"You never tell me anything," she said, frustrated, watching her hands fidget in front of her.

It was a pointless conversation and one they'd been through before so instead of responding Tom slid down beside her, put his arm around and held her. This apparently wasn't the response that was required though.

Shelby got free of Tom's arm and sat up on the bed. "How come you get to have all the fun anyway? I want to do what you do. I'm going to come and work in the hotel."

"Fun? You call it fun?" Tom asked from where he lay, eyes closed and motionless.

"Well it's more fun than being here..." She said looking bleakly around the room.

They both knew where this conversation led and it was normally Tom who would bring it to a close. He raised himself to sitting on the edge of the bed and finally got his trousers back around his waist.

"I've told you before - it's best if you stay out of it Shell..." The tone of his words came harsh and damning at her. He hadn't meant it that way but Shelby read it at face value and Tom knew what he'd done. They turned to face each other and Tom saw that face. It was the face of let down, of disappointment, of the fear that she was letting herself be hoodwinked again by empty promises - and she couldn't help it - Shelby was genuinely good natured and her face told you of that and of something else - her belief in 'something better'. A life without fear. A life of freedom. A secure life, a family life. Four bedrooms and a two car garage. If there was one thing in the world other than a knife, or a gun, that could force Tom to act though - it was this face. It wrenched the very guts of him and he understood what he'd done even if he didn't mean to but he reached out to console her anyway because apart from all the bullshit, Tom was head-over-heels, tush-over-tit in love with Shelby Lee Wheeler.

"I'm sorry, Shel. I didn't mean to... You know I..." And sometimes, when you need the words to flow, they don't, because you're too worried about hurting someone more than you already have and your heart runs the angles on how it may sound from every corner of the room to make sure they're okay but it all just gets caught up in the process and anything that does get out just doesn't ring true.

"It's okay," she said, softly, withdrawn.

But it wasn't.

"I promise..." he offered but Shelby had heard it all before.

"Don't..." She interrupted and held a hand up, releasing herself from him.

There was only one thing for it... He kissed her and got to his feet and started moving around, trying to dance like James Brown. "I feel good!" facing away from and then turning to her, "I knew that I would..." He switched to Michael Jackson moves and tried to moonwalk. Shelby offered a reluctant smile but the rest of her demeanour stayed the same as it was. "Shel-bee, is not my lover, she's just a girl..." he went on, moving closer to her and crouching down to be at her level. "That's not true. She is my lover. And she's not just a girl..." getting under her gaze. "She's the most beautiful girl in the world. And anyone that can't see that... Well they're just not looking hard enough. But I know..."

She rolled her eyes and smiled as he smooched her square on the lips. "Go on then, go and get your all important meeting done mister dancing-fool-big-shot."

Tom tucked his shirt in as he headed to the door.

"And hey!" she added. "Call me when you're done...?"

"You got it," he said. He opened the door wide and went through it but stopped just short of closing it. Turning back he saw her moving towards the bedside and pulled a picture frame out of a drawer. It was a frame of them, a photo she'd snapped on their first night out. Shelby gazed at the photo of the two of them. Tom hadn't seen it before but he immediately knew what it meant.

"Shell," he said from the other side of the doorframe and she looked back, clutching the frame to her body, surprised he was still there.

"Yeah?!"

"It's you."

He gently closed the door and went on his way and she heard the sound of his boots echoing down the hallway.


End file.
